


every dark night

by imaginarypasta



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deviates From Canon, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:06:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarypasta/pseuds/imaginarypasta
Summary: Contains almost all of the angst and sadness the manga/show has, but Yut gets a character arc and the ending is happy now.





	1. here comes a wave

There is the sun, and he walks the earth like it belongs to him; he’s blistering fire and scorching hot ice all rolled into one, with a beautiful face and fierce eyes. Someday, he will become so hot and so cold, he will burn himself from the inside out, dead by his own hand.

He shines like a beacon in the darkness, and, for a long time, he things the world revolves around him, though not always in worship; he thinks this when the dying stranger cries and begs for help and hands him his own death’s harbinger, he thinks this when the world’s wealthiest and most powerful call for either his head or his hand, and he thinks this when the young boys pledge their loyalty to him, begging for his protection without even knowing it.

He does not think this when the strange boy appears in the bar minutes after leaving his brother in the second bedroom of his apartment, speaking with broken English and light even in the dark glow of the neon lamps; the sun finds himself shrunken to the size of the ant, being burnt by the very thing he calls himself, amplified times one million by a magnifying glass. He is awestruck at the boy with dark hair and dark eyes and a huge smile, who stares at him with some unreadable expression located somewhere between admiration and curiosity and shock, and surprised when the boy says he is older than him, if only by a few months; he thinks this annoys him, this comment on his youthful exterior.

The sun is taller than the boy, who asks almost instantly about his gun, and markedly scrawnier, with more presence and power, but with less confidence in his own safety. So this is what normality means; he’s not sure if this is something he desires.

“Is that a real gun?” he asks, like it would be fake.

For a moment, he wishes for a life where he couldn’t tell the difference either, but he quickly pushes wishful thinking away. The boy’s face turns bright red when the sun asks what he means.

“Can I hold it?” The air in the bar goes still, and he can sense the shock of the patrons when he agrees. He’s not sure what possesses him to do it – the earnestness in the boy’s query or the unfounded yet strong desire to share something of himself with the stranger. The boy is excited to hold it, grasping it carefully so it doesn’t drop, but crookedly so it’s not pointed at anyone. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Their hands touch for a moment as he hands him back the gun, and, for the first time in so many years, Ash is not tempted to recoil from the contact.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” the boy asks.

His face darkens with his mind, “Yeah.” The boy acts shocked, and he cannot tell if his reaction is genuine or not; he wonders if he wears the face of a killer on his skin.

He hears Skip talking to the boy about him while he stays alone at the bar, and they act like old friends although they met mere moments before. His eavesdropping is cut short when Shorter calls to warn him about Arthur, and his call is cut short with they come in with guns and knives. He hears them leave and, before he can take a second to think, he’s running after Skip and the boy.

* * *

The sun stops the bike at the entrance to an abandoned packing plant; the sky is dark and starless, light pollution killed them all years ago. He doesn’t hide the bike or himself, walking into the trap without hesitation but with all the strength he could muster – a sizeable amount at that, and his hand on the gun tucked into his pants. He’s indignant towards Arthur, but raises an eyebrow when Marvin steps out with some goons, Skip, and the Japanese boy.

“Let them go,” he demands.

“Ash,” Arthur says, and the word sounds dirty in his mouth. “Who is this boy?” Ash says nothing, and, after his eyes slide back to the prisoners, Arthur commands, “Kill him.”

The boy recoils and quakes in fear as one of the goons puts a gun to his head. “Hold it,” Ash says. “You and your ways disgust me.” He throws his gun onto the floor toward Arthur. The boy’s eyes flash from the gun to the sun and something in them awakens.

“What an admirable boss,” Arthur says. “Looking out for his boys.” And then he punches him in the jaw.

* * *

They throw him onto the concrete floor, arms tied behind his back; it smells like metal in this room. “Be a good boy now,” Marvin says; his words are like acid. “You know it’s no use disobeying Papa Dino.” His stomach lurches at the name. Marvin picks him up by the collar, moving his face close to his own, and his bones begin to shake, though he does not allow the movement to radiate outward. “What did that man give you?” He spits on Marvin’s face, only to be dropped onto the hard ground, head throbbing.

“I don’t know what you’re after,” he hears Arthur say, “But if you want him to talk, cut off their ears.”

“He’s made a fool of me all this time, let me enjoy this a little bit,” Marvin replies, and slides off his belt. His mind flashes with memory, and his body convulses from the same; he raises himself to his knees before Marvin hits him with the belt.

* * *

He’s pushed onto another floor, this time into a much smaller room. “Ash!” Skip exclaims, and the door slams far away.

“Are you all right?” the boy asks, and the pair help him to sit up. He hears fabric ripping from beside him, and then he continues, “Give me your arm.”

Ash frowns, “What? Why?”

He’s already tying the fabric to his arm, where it was cut open and bleeding from the belt. “We need to stop the bleeding.” He finishes the bandage and says, “Thank you for saving my life.”

Ash looks away from the boy’s face, “You might wish I didn’t.” He sighs. “It doesn’t seem like they’ll let us die so easily now.”

The room is dark and cold, the only light coming in from the faraway lights of the city through a small, grated window. They pile up by the tarps in the room, clutching themselves to try to stop the frigidity from reaching their skin.

“How are you feeling, Ash?” Marvin asks as he slides open the door, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He’s not sure how much time has passed since he’s been in here.

“What are you going to do?” he says.

“Depends on you,” Marvin grins. “If you’re a good boy, I could put in a good word to Papa.”

The sun’s breath leaves him. “I want to talk to you in private.”

“Sure,” Marvin agrees, and then demands the others leave, closing the door behind them.

He hears Skip talking to the boy, but shuts out the noise.

“So what now?” Marvin asks.

He rubs his hands over his chest, then pouts, “Not in front of them.” He reclines against a tarp. “Take me somewhere we can be alone.” Marvin grins in response. “My ribs are broken, could you help me up?”

“My poor baby,” Marvin says, walking towards him. He helps him up. “I’ll take good care of you afterwards.” There is a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I’ll be counting on that.” He knees Marvin in the groin, who doubles over, and then slams him on the neck with his fists; he drops to the ground. Skip and the boy stand, the latter with his hands over his chest.

“You did it!” yells Skip, “I knew you would!”

“Let’s get out of here.” They escape the room, opening the door a mere crack and slipping out, and sneak passed the guards before breaking into a run; they notice their absconding quickly in the dawn’s light and begin to chase after them in the labyrinth. They make it down three or four hallways before coming to a brick wall with barbed wire on top and no conceivable exit.

“A dead end?” the boy asks.

“Shit,” Ash whispers, leaning against the wall and clutching his stomach.

“Damn it, we came this far!” Skip exclaims.

He plans to surrender the necklace, if it means letting these two out, but the boy walks to the wall and pries a metal pipe off the side.

“Wow, I didn’t know you had the guts, Eiji,” Skip grins. “I really like you. I’ll put up a fight, too-”

“No,” he says. “That’s not it.” He analyzes the wall for a moment. “I’m going to jump over.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Ash asks.

“I’ve jumped higher walls in Japan,” he returns. “I’m a pole-vaulter.”

“You’re crazy.” Ash pulls himself off the wall. “If that rotten pipe breaks, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, there aren’t any mats either,” Skip agrees.

In a sudden burst of passion, Eiji says, “Then are we just going to die here? If I’m going to go anyways, I’ll at least die trying.” Before anyone can protest and as the men run toward them, he takes a running jump and soars over the wall and wire.

Ash’s breath hitches in his throat, watching the strange boy soar through the air, the rising sun cradling him perfectly. He’s free.

They turn to see the guards standing behind them. They knock Skip out first, his tiny body limp on the ground. Marvin holds him by the collar and slams him against the wall. “Where did you hide him?”

“He flew,” Ash says, releasing the tiniest hint of a smile. “Like a bird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'Well, they get banana fever. It's a terrible disease.'
> 
> 'Here comes a wave,' Sybil said nervously.
> 
> 'We'll ignore it. We'll snub it,' said the young man. 'Two snobs.'"
> 
> J.D. Salinger, "A Perfect Day for Bananafish"


	2. there was always the war

The sun is trapped between two walls, and closer than they are, between two men with huge arms and danger residing on their faces. Marvin is opposite them, outlined by the daylight, standing beside his little green car.

“All right, let’s go for a ride,” he says. His voice is the same disgusting pitch it usually is. One of the people beside him jostle Skip toward Marvin.

“Skip has nothing to do with this,” the sun sneers. “Let him go.”

“Ash…” Skip warns quietly.

Marvin grins, “Not so fast. Take the kid out back, we’ll deal with him there.” They respond silently, pulling Skip away from Ash and the car.

“No,” he exclaims, fighting both the braces trapping his hands and the guards trapping his action. “ _Shit._ Let _go_ of me. Skip!” His motions are futile as they begin to shove him towards the car, only to be stopped as several gunshots come from down the alley.

He’s left alone for a moment, using the seconds to find safety from the downpour of bullets beside Marvin’s car, as the men who were guarding him step toward the commotion. He can hardly see from here, but a relief settles on his face as he notices Shorter and his gang proceeding up the walk.

He hears his violet-haired friend yell, “Ash! Skip! Where are you?”

Ash calls to him, amongst bullets and crashes, “Watch out! Dino’s guys are here!” A siren wails nearby before the words are out of his mouth.

“Fuck, the cops,” one of the men beside him hisses.

“That kid must’ve snitched,” his partner returns.

He hears a gun cock nearby and turns his attention to a few feet away from him. Behind Marvin’s large figure, now holding a gun pointed directly at him, Skip still struggles against a buff man who tries to pull him away from everything.

“I’m not going to get you get away so easily, Ash,” Marvin says. Skip notices almost instantly, all at once mustering the strength to break away from his current battle to run toward his friend.

“Ash!” he calls, and as the words pass his lips, the bullet enters his stomach, and a second taps his heart.

As Skip jumps out, the whole world stills for his fall. Blood refuses to rush between veins, wind stills in the air, sound ceases to be, and the sun stares as his friend clatters to the floor, blood dripping from his clothing. He moves toward him quickly, cradling his head in his arms. He can feel his heart quicken as his friend looks into his eyes and says a private, silent goodbye.

His body moves without direction, toward Marvin, the orchestrator of his death, with malice and determination shining in his eyes. Hesitation does not belong to him as he chases the man down, passed police and strangers, kicking and punching his way to a car, slamming the gas and speeding behind Marvin as he tries to escape. The car’s tail swings behind him as he pulls away, the bindings on his wrists grating into his skin.

He follows Marvin to an apartment building, through an iron door, and up tens of stairs covered in red and gold carpets. He’s on his coattails the entire way, until the very end, when his previously unnoticed injuries get the best of him, and he loses him on the last floor.

By the time he finally gets to the top level, he finds Marvin’s apartment door hanging open, and follows the musty smell down his hall. Marvin’s seated against his bed, and the sun seizes him by the collar, only to find his body limp. Startled, he drops his form, now noticing the blood caking his shirt and the gun dropped lazily beside his arm. Behind him, several sets of footsteps run up, and his body goes numb as a number of arms grab him and pull him into the air, away from the body.

* * *

They force his arms behind his back, one of the cops reciting Miranda rights behind him; it’s not the first time this has happened, but these fellows are being unnecessarily rough.

“ _Fuck_ , that _hurts_ ,” he hisses, as the handcuffs cut his wrists. He reflexively lurches out.

“Don’t move,” one of the cops says.

“Could you just,” he struggles, “ _listen_ to me?”

They don’t, and it’s not until the detectives from the bar come that he has another chance to speak. They’re both out of breath when they reach him. Charlie’s eyes are opened wide, “Ash… Did you…”

“I didn’t kill him,” Ash frowns. “He was dead when I got here.”

A voice comes from behind Charlie and Jenkins, “Don’t lie.” It’s not the first time he’s heard it, the gravely voice of Willard Evanstine, a detective the sun has a particular distaste for. He can smell the smoke as Evanstine lights a cigarette in the hallway; he and Jenkins have a conversation too quiet for the sun to hear. “Take him away!”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do it,” he cries as they pull him out the door.

“Get moving,” one cop says, yanking him further along.

“Let _go_ of me.”

* * *

Charlie and Jenkins are behind Evanstine, a united front against the sun, betrayed. As intimidating as they may be, though, they’re no match for Ash’s innocence.

The fluorescent lights shine above them, illuminating the room with an artificial brightness that manages to trump the sun’s light in his depression; it's still in here, and he can hear every creak of the chair and movement of his accuser's throat as he speaks.

“I remember you well, Ash. Hope you’re not hustling anymore…” Evanstine’s tone is almost gleeful, mocking. The sun remains silent. “Staying quiet, huh?” He raises an arm in surrender, then uses it to hold up a thick manila envelope. “We found some interesting stuff in that man’s room…” Photos and magazines fall out, and the sun snaps his head around to avoid the images. “Some videos, too.” He puts one in the player, each moment passing by achingly. He knows all to well what’s coming.

“Stop,” he requests quietly.

“Something wrong?” Evanstine taunts. He hands one of the magazines to Jenkins, who flips through it unsuspectingly. “See for yourself. That man had quite nasty taste.” Charlie leans his head over to see the booklet in Jenkins’ hands.

“What is this?” he asks.

“Please stop,” the sun hisses, his words unacknowledged.

“Child porn.” Evanstine answers nonchalantly. “Watch, the movie is starting.”

The room darkens, all light centered to the blue glow of the screen. The sun doesn’t look, but he can hear every shaky breath and static buzzing on the film with no one in the room even breathing; his stomach coils something nasty.

“I’m going to puke,” Charlie murmurs.

“Stop, that’s enough,” Jenkins frowns. Evanstine does not honor his request.

“That’s you, isn’t it, Ash? How old were you then? Ten? Eleven?” He smirks, and the sun’s teeth grate together. “I mean, it’s reason enough to kill him. You had a grudge, you wanted him dead.” His eyes are slammed shut. “Am I wrong?”

The anger wells up inside him, his body runs hot; he pounds his hands on the table, face scrunched up in hatred. He sees Evanstine, now, with his smug smile, resting back in his chair like he’s at a café. His hands curl into themselves, not enough to make fists, and he falls back into his seat.

There is a knock on the door, and an officer entering the room says, “The hospital is ready for him.”

Evanstine growls. “Fine, take him away.”

The officer grabs him by the upper arm, “Get up.”

“Later, movie star.” Evanstine smirks.

Jenkins runs after them as they leave. “Ash, you bore it well. I’m sure that was difficult.”

He reaches a hand towards the sun’s shoulder, but the boy swats it away. “Don’t fucking touch me!” he yells, and Jenkins reels back in shock. “Keep your filthy hands off me.”

* * *

The hospital glows golden with the setting sun pouring its light through the window blinds. It’s twin feels the same way it looks, his clothes removed for paper uniforms, skin wrapped with white bandages.

Charlie is there, uninvited. “I get it; Skip was just a kid.” He waits a moment to continue. “Several people who know Golzine have committed suicide this year. We want to catch him for sure this time. This has to do with him, right? You might have a knife under his nose without even knowing it.” When he doesn’t respond, the man continues, “Are you listening, Ash?”

Ash slowly turns his head. “I don’t know shit.” He sits up. “I don’t care about your stupid game of tag. Sure, I didn’t kill Marvin. But if somebody else hadn’t, I would have.” Charlie’s breath shakes in surprise. “What can you do anyway? How do you plan to punish… to even indict Dino?”

He struggles to find the appropriate words. “It depends on what you tell us.”

Ash frowns. “As it it’ll be of any use. He has a team of undefeatable lawyers. Your high and mighty ‘laws’ have nothing against his fortune. Even a stupid-ass punk like me knows that.” He reclines back into the bed. “Lock me up for murder if you want. I’m just another worthless troublemaker on the streets.” He glares at the blinds trapping his sibling between their plastic bars. “Leave me alone.”

* * *

The bird on the windowsill flies away when the door opens. It’s departure is so mundane in its elegance. The sun turns his head to look at the visitor, dressed in pink and white, and somehow smiling.

“Hey,” he says, sitting on the chair beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Look who’s asking. There weren’t any mats on the other side, huh?”

“No, but it’s not such a big deal.”

He turns his eyes towards the bright blue sky. “That was quite a jump. I didn’t know you had such a talent.”

Eiji’s breath hitches. “I didn’t even get to thank Skip.” He jumps, suddenly remembering something. “Hey, Ash…” His nerve snuff out his voice; the sun looks over, eyebrow raised.

“Charlie sent you here, right?”

“What? Um… well…” His eyes dart around nervously.

“You’re a lousy liar.” He sighs; his face turns dark, but his tone stays the same. He finds himself looking at their shadows on the ground, looking closer than they are in reality. “Did he tell you about my past?”

Eiji looks up from the floor, “Your past?”

“I guess such nasty things don’t happen in Japan.”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The sun turns his face from the other boy, and the daylight makes him smile. “I envy you,” he admits, as much talking to the birds soaring passed the window as the person sitting beside his bed. “You know how to fly.”

He says nothing as the quiet sobs of his visitor fill the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We only knew then that there was always the war, but that we were not going to it any more.”
> 
> Ernest Hemmingway, “In Another Country”


	3. but you can bear anything

Voices call out on either side of the sun in the dark, industrial chambers he’ll soon be calling home. The halls are lined with the same rolling caged doors he’s led into, to find a roommate with sandy hair and a magazine draped lazily over his face.

“New inmate,” the officer leading him around says, “Play nice.” He leaves the pair locked in a room made of concrete and metal.

The man drags the booklet off his face with a slight grin, and sits up to greet the sun, hand out and smiling. It’s too friendly for a place like this. “Max Lobo.”

He takes the man’s hand. “Ash Lynx.”

“You’re young,” Max says. “How old _are_ you?”

The sun’s eyebrows knit together, scanning the man for information. “What about you, old man?”

“ _Old man_? I’m thirty-two!” he yells, and a chorus of voices from outside command him to be quiet. “Sorry.”

“Thirty-two? You are old,” he teases, though he’s not much older than the sun’s brother. “I’m seventeen.”

Max snorts. “Compared to you, everyone’s old.” He continues his conversation happily, while the sun climbs onto the top bunk. “Where’re you from? Got any family?”

“You talk a lot,” the sun responds, voice stale and even.

“Sorry, I’m a journalist; it’s only natural.”

The sun thinks for a moment, “Max Lobo, you said? There’s a columnist in the Greenwitch Tribune that goes by that name. I know some of his works… uh, 730 days in Baghdad, right?”

The man jumps up and pulls himself to the sun’s height on the bed. “That’s me! I wrote that! You know me?”

“William Auster’s report was way better.” He frowns and turns away. “You should stick to columns.” The man’s posture changes; the sun recognizes despair. “I didn’t mean that rudely. You write better than most of those phonies you work with.”

* * *

 

He notices the inmates lined up against the walls, staring and whispering among themselves, while Max gives him a tour the next morning.

“Why is everybody staring at me?”

Max clears his throat. “You’re a new face. Plus, you’re young.” The sun breathes out quietly, and Max stops walking. “You shouldn’t wander around alone.”

“Why,” he demands.

He searches for the right words. “Oh, you know. Young boys can be a target for some guys around here, if you know what I mean.” His face changes into a huge, faux grin as he claps him on the shoulder and leads him away.

* * *

 

At lunch, the sun is knocked speechless by the quality of the food. “How crappy. Even the soup kitchen is better than this.”

“It takes some times to get used to,” Max chuckles.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, until two voices sound out behind them.

“What a cutie,” the first one smirks.

“I might go visit him tonight,” the second returns.

“Don’t wander around alone, really,” Max advises quietly.

“What about you?” the sun says, picking at his food. “You’re being awfully kind to me.” He sees Max jump out of the corner of his eyes.

“Me? Yeah, right. I’m just looking out for you.”

The sun’s gaze is snapped to an approaching man, large and intimidating, with a snake tattoo curled around his right bicep.

“Hey, fresh meat,” he says. “You look pretty young, how old are you?” The sun flicks his eyes back to his meal. “What, shy or something?”

Max speaks up, “Hey, Garvey, this kid is—” He’s cut off by two of Garvey’s pals grabbing either shoulder.

“Kid, why don’t you come visit my room sometime? We’ll have a good time.” His hand reaches for the sun’s. “Let’s be friends.”

Before the sun can think, his tray is hitting Garvey’s face, leaving vegetables smeared over his skin. “Get your hands off me.” He jumps out of his seat and onto the table, kicking a stunned Garvey in the face. Behind him, the inmates start a commotion.

Garvey’s pals jump to his rescue, but are too late to pass the thick crowd of inmates surrounding them as the sun wrestles Garvey to the ground. As soon as the fight starts, it ends, with two guards pulling him off the man.

He hits the floor hard enough to bruise, and finds himself in a room with little light and cold walls.

“Think about what you did,” a guard at the door says. His grip on the fork he grabbed in the skirmish tightens as the door closes.

* * *

 

It’s only been a day when the sun is released, and he’s instantly put on cleaning duty in the cafeteria.

“You don’t look too bad for someone in the repentance cell all night,” Max says as he walks to greet his roommate.

“I’ve never repented; not once in my life,” the sun returns, grabbing a bucket to begin mopping up.

* * *

 

He’s alone most of the day, giving himself time to conjure up a plan, so when the man and his pals from the cafeteria approaches him, he already knows what he’s going to do.

“Hey,” Garvey grins. “I had fun yesterday, kid. Why don’t we continue our little rendezvous in the library?”

They walk in a group to the library, and the sun can feel his body shaking the whole time. When Max finds him in between stacks of books, his body is sore and bruised, but he’s still trying to untie the binds on his wrists.

* * *

 

“He’s not banged up too badly,” the doctor says. It’s as confining here as his cell, but at least he’s not around the other inmates. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Can I have a painkiller?” the sun asks. “My head is killing me.”

“Your head?” the doctor sighs. “Whatever, princess. How’s this?” He gives him a tablet, half red, half white.

“Thanks.” He pretends to take the pill for the doctor, hiding it in his hand in the meantime. Once he’s done, the doctor leaves him to talk to a patient Max.

“You’ll have hell to pay now,” he says. “Garvey’s spreading rumors you didn’t put up a fight.”

“Maybe I had a reason,” he returns, not looking up.

Max rubs his chin nervously. “Anyway, are you hungry? I brought you food.” He gives the sun a tray from the cafeteria; the food doesn't match, with potatoes and unidentifiable meat and a banana.

“Banana Fish…” he whispers under his breath as he chows down on the yellow fruit.

“What did you say?” Max asks suddenly, eyes locked on the sun, whose eyes flutter up to his face. “Did you say Banana Fish? How do you know what that is?”

“What are you so worked up for? It’s just from a novel.”

“Don’t lie to me, I know you know something.” At the sun’s silence, his voice turns pleading. “Do you know where he is? Is that why Charlie asked me to guard you?”

“Charlie?” It clicks in the sun’s mind. “So you–”

“Answer me!” His fist slams down on the bedside table, hard enough to send most of the meal flying.

“Fine. Who is ‘he?’ Is Banana Fish a person?"

* * *

 

They’re back in their cell when Max finally tells him.

“This article, here,” he says, handing the sun a paper. “The author’s uncertain whether banana fish is a person or an organization, but, regardless, it’s associated with a drug trafficking route.”

“Fine, but if it’s been around so long, why isn’t there any information about it? There’s not even any rumors.”

“That’s just it. There’s no information about it after 2007, and even before that it was limited. The first lead he got was in Los Angeles this year.”

“Who is this guy anyway?”

“His information’s at the back of the book.” The sun flips the pages to see. “When I get out, I’m going to meet him and—”

“No, you won’t,” he says as he sees the image. “He died. In front of my eyes.”

“What do you mean?”

He tells Max about the dying man on the street. “I guess he got too close without realizing it.”

Max sighs, “I can’t believe this.”

The sun speaks after a moment of silence. “Why are you looking for Banana Fish anyway?”

“I had a friend,” he explains, “in Iraq, over a decade ago. He was seriously messed up by this drug. He was a great guy, wrote poems. His last words were Banana—”

“What was his name?” Max looks at him quizzically. “What was your friend’s name?”

“Griffin.”

“Callenreese?” Max nods shakily. “So you’re Max Glenreed.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

The sun moves to stand by the cell gate, the moon shining bright above. “He’s my brother.”

“So Ash is short for…”

“Aslan, yes.”

Max perks up at this. “Who would’ve though I’d meet you here? But damn, you two are nothing alike. He was so quiet…”

“He wrote me a lot. I know all about you.”

“Yeah, he was a poet. A good one, too, and—”

“And you were the one who shot him.” Max gasps. “Who left him to die.”

“That’s not really what happened,” he tries to explain. “Griffin shot first… I didn’t have a choice. He was messed up by the drug, tried to kill all of us.”

“He trusted you. He’d said you were his only true friend. He still can’t walk.” The sun sighs. “But, sure, you didn’t have a choice.”

Max’s breathing stops. “ _Still_? He’s alive? Please, I have to see him.”

The sun’s hands curl up around the bars of the cell as Max gets closer and closer.

“It doesn’t matter. Even if you did see him, he wouldn’t recognize you.” His hands release the bars and slam them instead. “He doesn’t even recognize _me_.” He pauses. “You left him there to die.”

“It wasn’t like that… He was sent home, I looked everywhere for him.”

“Keep it down, you two,” says a guard passing by. “Go to bed.”

“He’s right. Let’s get some sleep.” Max’s anger has already vanished, he realizes.

But the sun still burns red-hot. “When I get out,” he says. “I’ll kill you.” He pulls himself into bed. “Goodnight, Max.”

* * *

 

The next morning, the sun has visitors. Eiji and Ibe sit with him at the table; the pill rests between his teeth and cheek.

“Thank you for coming, Eiji,” he smiles. He looks strange in this room; he’s not supposed to be here.

“I was glad to hear you wanted to see me.” His face turns dark. “With what happened to Skip, I was sure you’d want to avoid me.”

Ash keeps his voice as light as he can, and reaches a hand for Eiji’s; their skin hardly touches, but it is enough for him to feel the warmth. He realizes how cold it is in here. “It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Ibe,” the sun says, pulling his hand back to his chest. “You’re still working on that piece, right? How are my guys?”

Ibe gives him a remorseful look, “Actually, it’s too dangerous to get close. We’ve had to hold off.”

“We think Arthur’s leading the gang now,” Eiji explains where Ibe fails.

“That coward thinks he can take my place,” he hisses.

“Anyway, when is your trial, Ash?” Ibe asks.

“I’ll be in remand for less than a month, now.”

“We’ll have to celebrate,” Eiji offers.

They talk for a few more minutes about Eiji and Ibe’s plans for the coming weeks, until Charlie tells them it’s time to leave. They walk Ash back to the door.

“Take care, Ash,” Eiji says. “And don’t worry, you’ll be out soon.”

“Yeah,” he responds. “I’m really glad you came today.” He places a hand on Eiji’s cheek, running his fingers through his hair.

Eiji’s face goes red, and his words come stumbling out, “O-of course.”

“Come alone next time, yeah?”

“Sure… why do—”

But before he can get the questions out, Ash’s lips are pressed up against his. His body is too stiff for it to look natural, the sun knows, but it’ll have to do. He find’s Eiji’s hand with his free one, and uses his tongue to slip the pill capsule into Eiji’s mouth. His eyes open sleepily, and the brief contact between their pupils ensures Eiji knows what happened; he presses their foreheads together and narrows his brows in concentration.

“See you later,” he says, squeezing Eiji’s hand before walking away.

* * *

 

The sun is reclined against on of the concrete walls as he watches Max write something in a notebook.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asks, turning around. “If you hate me, just say so.” He’s silent in response. “Are you listening?” The sun merely glares back. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He pauses for a long moment, eyes glazing over. “Don’t look at me with your brother’s eyes.”

He slams the sun against the wall, _hard_ , then pushes him towards the bed, placing his hand around his neck and squeezing as hard as he can. The sun is perfectly still, until someone calls asking if Max is all right. His eyes focus on the boy below him, and he falls over himself getting off. The sun remains frozen in place.

“I’m sorry,” he admits. “I’ll ask to change cells. It’ll be better for both of us. If you want to kill me, go ahead. I’ve had enough. Goodnight, Ash.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It made him feel as a wound does that you think you cannot bear. But you can bear anything, he thought.” 
> 
> Ernest Hemmingway, “Across the River and into the Trees”


End file.
